The Infernal Devices: A Servant's Tale
by Angel Arturo
Summary: All her life, Vivian has been normal. She has been taught to be seen but not heard, and knows that she will one day be a maid in London. Then, when the time comes to move, she receives a letter from the London Institute. It says that she has the Sight, and will come to work there as a ladies' maid. Suddenly, Vivian is thrust into a world of myth and magic that she never imagined.
1. Chapter 1

**Hackney, 1873**

It was cold; so cold always, in the East End house. Vivian rubbed her cold hands together and blew on them, trying to bring some circulation back into them. It was warmer, she had been told, where she was going. She glanced toward the small, antique vanity in the corner of her room. Her acceptance letter was still lying supine on it, and she quickly walked over to it and read it again, eyes unseeing, and brain unwilling. It was a letter from Mrs. Charlotte Branwell, nee Fairchild, dated February 11th, 1873. It explained two things: the fact that there was a secret battle going on between the demons of this world, and half-angel things called Shadowhunters, right under the noses of humans. Or, to put it like Charlotte did, _mundanes_. Also, according to Charlotte, Vivian's family, the Manettes, could see the Shadow World and had been in service to the Fairchilds for a very long time. And it made one thing abundantly clear. Vivian would be leaving her family and going to serve the Shadowhunters in the London Institute.

Traditionally, when the children in the Manette family turned twelve, they were either apprenticed to working class masters, or sent to be maids in upper class families. Vivian had watched her three brothers all go through this process. Her eldest brother, Jonathan, had become apprentice to a silversmith at twelve. He had moved into the city, and as far as Vivian knew, was running a successful smithing business there. She would not know; he was ten years older than her, and had never been the family sort. Her other two brothers, the twins Michael and Garrett, had become stable boys for a family out in Wales. The Heronbills, or something like that. Heronbeak? She really didn't know. They would be seventeen now, five years older than her, and would probably serve the Welsh family for the rest of their working days. Now, having turned twelve herself, it was Vivian's turn to work somewhere. And that place seemed to be at the base of a mysterious group of demon-slayers.

"Vivian! The Branwells will be here in a few minutes!" Mother's voice jerked Vivian out of her reverie. "Get yourself lookin' presentable, and come down to wait in the garden."

Hurriedly, Vivian took a last look in the mirror. Her family had never had a lot of money, so most of her clothes were castoffs of her mother's and aunt's. She had one fine dress, however. On her twelfth birthday, a package had arrived from her Aunt Agatha. Agatha had been serving at the Institute for as long as Vivian could remember. She just hadn't known until now that it was, in fact, the Institute where Agatha had been working. The pay was said to be good there, so her aunt had generously sent Vivian a dress. It was beautiful; too beautiful for the harsh slums of London, so Vivian had never worn it. It had sat at the back of her closet ever since her birthday, which had been almost two months ago, and she had never thought to wear it. But going to the city did seem cause for a fancier attire than patched and slightly ragged clothes that had most certainly seen better days. The dress was made of a beautiful red rose silk, which would offset Vivian's dark brown hair, fair complexion, and luminous, almost catlike green eyes.

But she was now a lady's maid, a servant, and must not wear clothes above her station. She pulled on the black and white maid's uniform, twisted her long hair into loose chignon, and pulled on the white cap. She was permitted to bring however many items from home she wanted, but she decided on only one. Vivian hurried over to the ornate mahogany jewelry box on the vanity. It had belonged to her father, and only contained one thing. Vivian's father had been struck and killed by a Hackney cab when she was baby, but had left something behind that he had wanted his daughter to have, when she was old enough. Heart beating fast, Vivian opened the box and pulled out the silver heart shaped locket. It was always an oddity; a man owning such a feminine piece of jewelry, especially an old, tarnished locket that refused to open, but her father had claimed that the story behind it was rich and complex, and that one day she would know it.

To Vivian it was no more than a talisman, a part of the father she had never known. Sensing that she should probably get downstairs, she slipped the locket around her neck, and tucked it into the folds of her uniform. It rested over her heart, and seemed to warm up immediately. There. She would always have a piece of home with her.

She tiptoed down the stairs, and walked into the scrubbed wooden kitchen, where her mother was clattering around, making breakfast. "Do you want something to eat before you leave, _cariad?" _Her mother had a habit of slipping into Welsh when she got emotional, and she seemed to sense Vivan's tense mood.

Vivian shook her head. "Are they here yet?"

"Patience," chided her mother. Georgia Manette was not a pretty woman; she had been, in her youth, an 'English Rose' of sorts. But years of hard living and grieving had robbed any small vestiges of beauty that she might have once possessed. Vivian looked nothing like her, more like her father, and it was clear the Vivian was going to be very pretty. Georgia had been able to put this to her advantage when seeking employers looking for a lady's maid. She may not have been the most compassionate woman at the best of times, but could tell that her daughter was not in a great mood to talk.

Vivian sighed, and stepped out of their small flat into the garden. Though all other aspects of the house were rather shabby and peeling, the garden was nothing of the sort. Vivian's father, Amos Manette, had been said to have had green thumb all his life, and took the liberty of planting quite an extraordinary garden before he died. The garden was unusual; it had a variety of different plants and flowers. Amos had never exactly planned out exactly how the garden would be, so he just planted every manner of plant that struck his fancy. There were normal herbs, like thyme and rosemary for everyday cooking, but other, less ordinary items like chicory and peppergass cress, grouped with beautiful roses and blooming tiger lilies. In Vivian's mind, the garden was her father's own Eden, his own piece of paradise. She bent to pluck a sprig of thyme, and breathed in its spicy, tickling scent.

"Pretty," said a woman's voice behind her. "Did you plant it yourself?"

Vivian whipped around. A woman, really not much older than a girl, stood behind her. She had thick, curling brown hair, bright dark eyes, and a small, birdlike frame. She wore a neat dress, made of white and blue chiffon. The woman had a small, kindly face. Not pretty, exactly, but had a determined air around her that seemed to dispel the littleness.

"W-Who are you?" stammered Vivian.

"Charlotte Branwell," replied the woman. "Though everyone at the institute calls me Charlotte. I'd be pleased if you did too.

So this was Mrs. Branwell. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, m'am," she muttered, casting her eyes down as servants were bidden.

"Oh, no need to be so formal," said Charlotte, will a wave of her little hand. As she did this, her sleeve slid back to revel her wrist, which was marked with a strange symbol. _A woman with tattoos_, thought Vivian. _Is this the newest high fashion in London?_

Charlotte did not miss her gaze, and shook her sleeve carefully back over the arm. "Come now to the carriage. We have a long ride ahead of us."

She walked swiftly back to a large black carriage, marked with four interlocking C's. She opened the door, and hopped inside. Charlotte offered a hand to Vivian, who also hoisted herself into the interior. The inside of the carriage was large and spacious, with black velvet seats. It could easily have fit at least four people.

All the way through Hackney and into the heart of London, Charlotte kept up a nonstop chatter to Vivian, evidently trying to make her feel more comfortable. She explained about the Shadowhunters, the Institute itself, the tattoos…no, the Marks. Vivian's head was soon buzzing with information on Downworlders, demons, angels…it was all so much.

"You'll be pleased to know that you're not the only servant in the Institute, though I despise that word," continued Charlotte. "Agatha and Thomas are more our friends than servants. Agatha is our cook, and Thomas, though young, is training to be our chauffeur and head groom. Our only groom, in fact. You are going to be a ladies' maid, though really there are no ladies except me, and I am more than capable to take care of myself. Therefore you will alternate helping Agatha and Thomas, and doing some housekeeping as well."

All through Charlotte's speech, Vivian had kept quiet. At the mention of Agatha, her ears perked up. "Did you say one of your servants' names was Agatha, miss?"

Charlotte blinked. "Yes. Agatha Manette. She has been working at the Institute for as long as I can remember. Why?"

"Oh, because she is my aunt, miss," said Vivian, a smile breaking over her face.

"Really? I had no idea," said Charlotte, smiling slightly as well. "Well, I trust you'll get on fairly well with her and Thomas. Thomas is a young lad about your age who also has the sight, and is from your hometown. I'm sure you'll like him."

Vivian answered with a nod, and fell silent again as Charlotte continued talking.

"We have very few rules with the servants. My only request is that you treat everyone in the place with respect, carry out your allotted tasks, and speak in proper English."

Vivian looked puzzled.

"That is, I expect you to be able to speak with proper grammar and prose. You and Thomas are both from the East End, and have grown up speaking in what we call 'Cockney' accents here in London. You're welcome to use that dialect with each other, but Henry and I prefer more polished speech."

The cab came to a halt, with a slight bump. Charlotte promptly opened the door, and gestured for Vivian to get out first. Vivian obliged. She stepped out into the gray London streets, and looked around. The air was cool and damp, and the voices of many passing Londoners floated by. The dialect was odd and slightly clipped on her ears. Charlotte walked past her, and led Vivian to the door of what looked like an abandoned church. Charlotte inserted a key and pushed the door open. She strode in, with Vivian in toe. Vivian looked up and gasped. The ceiling was so high, she felt like a tiny church mouse. The entrance hall was large, and built like a church. There were many hallways, with too many rooms to count. Charlotte smiled at the girl's look of awe and wonder. "Welcome to your new life, Vivian Manette."

**(More to come, reviews appreciated)**


	2. Chapter 2

Charlotte said there was "No time for dallying", so she promptly led Vivian on a tour of the Institute. She led her through the sitting room, parlor, and library. Then they got to the kitchen, and she knocked before entering. "Agatha! Vivian is here!" she called.

"Jolly good," came a muffled voice. Then Aunt Agatha materialized, seemingly out of thin air, wearing a simple dress with a white apron and cap. "Vivian! My stars, you've grown."

She hurried over, and gave Vivian a hug. Vivian returned the hug, burying her face in Agatha's dress. Everything was so overwhelming, but Agatha was…so dependably there. She still smelled like home; a mix of gingerbread and cloves that Vivian had always loved. When she finally broke away, Vivian was smiling.

"Hello, Auntie," she said, breathlessly.

"So you've heard about it all?" asked Agatha, with a beady-eyed stare towards Charlotte.

"If you mean about demons, monsters, Shadowhunters, angels, and that sort of stuff, yeah, I've 'eard a smidge-I mean, I've heard a bit about it," replied Vivian, with a guilty look towards Charlotte as she started to slip back into her accent.

Charlotte cleared her throat. "Let's keep going, shall we."

She led Vivian upstairs to the training room. "If and when we get young Shadowhunters, they will train up here. Henry and I are fully trained, so this is unoccupied. You and Thomas are perfectly welcome to train up here, too."

"You and Henry are the only other Shadowhunters here, then?" inquired Vivian.

"Yes. Although since I was only recently assigned the job of running it, I daresay we'll have a few Shadowhunters here and there," replied Charlotte, with a smile.

They left the training room, and went down, far down, into what looked like a workshop. "Henry!" called Charlotte. "Vivian is here!"

"Who?" a ginger head popped up from behind a table right next to them.

Charlotte jumped rather badly, and swore. "By the Angel, Henry. Must you always hide like that?"

The man with red hair, Henry, looked slightly sheepish. "I'm sorry, darling. I was tinkering with the legs of the desk you wanted repaired, and I, um…" He seemed to notice Vivian, and snapped to attention, straightening his jacket, and attempting to brush off the sawdust coating his extremities. "Hello, Miss Manette," he said, in his best formal voice.

Vivian cast a slight sideways look at Charlotte, not sure whether to laugh or indulge in Henry's rather eccentric appearance, (He was wearing a pink and yellow checked waistcoat and bright purple shirt) and the latter just shrugged apologetically. "Good day, sir," she said, curtsying.

Henry blushed slightly. It was clear that he was not used to such formality by a long shot, and certainly not from twelve-year-old girls. "Benry Hanwell…I mean, Henry Branwell, at your service. Most's just call me Henry." He cast a pleading look at Charlotte, as if asking permission to go back to his tinkering.

Charlotte sighed. "Let's go see Thomas."

They walked in a slightly awkward silence, leaving Henry in his workshop. "Is Mr. Branwell always that…" Vivian didn't know how to put it without sounding extremely rude.

"Eccentric?" finished Charlotte. "I'm afraid so, but you'll get used to it."

She opened the back door of the institute, which was where the stables were. She walked out into the cold February sun, and motioned for Vivian to follow. They walked down the many rows of empty stalls. Two were occupied, however, with tall stallions, one black and one a donnish-golden color.

"Those are Balios and Xanthos," said Charlotte. "The fastest horses in all of England. Probably the whole continent, in fact. They were given to my father, Granville Fairchild, by the Greek Institute.

Vivian smiled. "I had a horse, back in Hackney," she said, reaching out to pet the black one. It nickered softly and nosed around in her palm for carrots.

Charlotte looked impressed. "You must really have a strong bond with horses if you were able to pet one of them. Usually they shy at strangers. What was your horse's name, may I ask?"

"Archibald," said Vivian. "We always used to call him Archer, though. He was a pure black stallion, with a white star marking. We used to ride over the streets in the night together. It was like all my troubles were erased in the dark."

Charlotte nodded. "Given enough time, you may want to try riding one of these. They are a trifle spirited, however." She walked a little further back, and knocked on a small dark door that Vivian hadn't noticed before. The door opened promptly, revealing a handsome boy around Vivian's age, sitting at a small table, cleaning a saddle. She sucked in her breath. This must be Thomas.

"Hello, Charlotte," he said, excitedly, jumping to his feet. "And," he said, turning his gaze onto Vivian, "This must be your new maid."

He really was handsome, Vivian thought. He was tall, and rather skinny for a boy of his age. He had dark, curling brown hair that just brushed the nape of his neck. He was very pale, almost unhealthily white, but his hazelly brown eyes were bright, and he looked very much alive. It was a combination of this, perhaps, that rendered Vivian temporarily speechless.

Thomas looked mock quizzically towards Charlotte. "Is she a mute?" he said, with a flash of brilliant white teeth that let both know he was joking. "Was her tongue cut out by a demon?"

"Nonsense," scolded Charlotte. "This is Miss Vivian Manette. Vivian, meet Thomas Tanner."

Vivian nodded, and reached out so that Thomas could shake her hand. Instead, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, like an adult would have. "Welcome, Milady Manette," he said, adopting a posh accent. "Pleasure to meet you."

Vivian blushed, and withdrew her hand. "Likewise, Master Tanner," she said, playing along.

Thomas looked at her with mock-horror and placed a hand to his heart. "Oh dear, she mistook me for a lord! Better not let Henry hear that," he said, winking at Charlotte. On a more serious note, he asked, "Is she a ladies' maid, Mrs. Branwell?"

Charlotte shook her head. "We'd need a real lady here for that happen. She will be when once one comes to stay. In the meantime, she will help Agatha with cooking and you with your…horsing endeavors. And I would be much obliged if you also trained together sometimes…the Consul suggested the younger servants were at least a little bit trained in the art of fighting."

Thomas nodded. "I look forward to it," he said, smiling again at Vivian.

Charlotte smiled as well. "Now if you'll excuse us, I'll show Vivian where she is sleeping." She walked inside, with Vivian at her heels.

"Goodbye, Lady Vivian!" called Thomas, with a wave.

Vivian turned. "I'll see you around, _Master_ Thomas!"

And with that, she turned and followed Charlotte back into the Institute.

**(Reviews and feedback still appreciated. More coming soon!)**


	3. Chapter 3

Charlotte led Vivian to the hallway with dozens of rooms on it. She walked to a dark oak door on the left, and pushed it open. "This is your room," she said. "Agatha's room is across the hall, and Thomas's is next to yours."

She gestured for Vivian to come in, and she obliged. The room was large and spacious; it had dark wood paneling, and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling. It had many bay windows, which let a lot of natural light in. There was an adjoining bathroom, and a four-poster bed sat on a dais to the left. A shelf full of books was in one corner, along with a cushy armchair. It was certainly much more elaborate than Vivian's old bedroom in Hackney.

Vivian was speechless. She turned to Charlotte, who was smiling amusedly. "T-thank you," Vivian stammered. "It's…wonderful!"

"I'm glad you think so," said Charlotte. "After you get acquainted a bit with your new residence, I'd be much obliged if you'd help Agatha with dinner."

"Of course, m'am," said Vivian.

Charlotte nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Vivian allowed herself about a minute more of silent gazing around the room, then hurried down to the kitchens, where she helped Agatha prepare a delicious meal for all of them.

* * *

The sky was dark by the time they served dinner, (beef stew with French bread and Blueberry Lavender ice cream for desert). Agatha rang the large bell in the kitchen, and soon they were joined in the dining room by Charlotte, Henry, and Thomas, though the latter abstained from sitting down. He walked into the kitchen to fetch the soup pot. Noticing Vivian's quizzical look, he said, "The servants don't dine with the masters. We serve them, and after they are finished we are free to eat when and where we please." Nodding, Vivian leaned down to retrieve the bread from the oven.

When dinner was over, she helped Agatha and Thomas clear up. Vivian rinsed her hands in the sink, and was just drying them on her apron, when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Turning, she saw Thomas, holding two bowls of stew aloft. "Do you want to go outside?" he said. "I've a favorite place along the Thames where I like to eat."

Vivian nodded, albeit a little hesitantly. "Is it safe for people our age to be out there in the night?"

"If you're worried about mad serial killers who take young girls in the night, then don't be," said Thomas, with a wink. "They wouldn't dare touch you if I'm there."

Though this did not entirely ease Vivian's worries, she obligingly followed Thomas out of the Institute and into the dark streets of London. They walked for a while, not talking, and came to a bridge.

"Is this your place?" inquired Vivian.

"Aye," said Thomas, allowing himself to slip into the Cockney accent they both shared. "I've been coming 'ere since I came to London. It's called Blackfriars Bridge." He hoisted himself onto the railing, and motioned for Vivian to do the same. Slightly dubiously, Vivian climbed up beside him. The moon shone down over the bridge, illuminating the slick metal railings and making the entire bridge shine like silver.

He took a bite of the rich, still-warm stew. "This is good," he remarked. "Sort of reminds me of home…you didn't live in Hackney, did you?"

Vivian blinked. "Why yes, I did," she said. "Agatha did as well."

Thomas looked surprised at this. "I lived there for a time…I never remembered seeing you, though. Pity." He filled the awkward silence that followed with a mouthful of stew. "You going to eat yours?"

Vivian blushed, and bent over her stew, though she wasn't really hungry. "I assume you have the Sight as well?" she said.

Thomas nodded. "My family's being serving Shadowhunters for as long as I can remember. Everyone in my family does. I've been here since I was a small child."

Vivian's eyes widened. "As a servant? Surely you were too young before now…"

He shook his head. "Not as a servant, exactly." Thomas's tone was light, but it was evident that he was not going to share the reason why he had been at the Institute so young.

Vivian hurriedly changed the subject. "So what exactly do you do here?"

Thomas pondered this a minute. "I suppose my job description would be 'Head Groom', or similar. Well, I'm the only groom, so you can take the head part away. I take care of the horses, and will drive the Institute's carriages at the end of my training."

"Is this lifetime of servitude?" asked Vivian.

"I suppose so," shrugged Thomas. "Although I wouldn't really call it servitude. We do get paid, and the Branwells really don't treat us like normal servants. We are bidden to protect the Institute with our lives."

"Ah," said Vivian. "That's why the Consul wanted us trained in fighting."

"Indeed," said Thomas. "So, tell me a bit about your life before this, Vivian Manette."

"Alright," she said. "Well, I was born and raised in Hackney; my mother was and still is a seamstress, and ran a small clothing shop in the East End. My father was a gardner and a merchant by trade. He died when I was a baby. I have three brothers: Jonathan, Michael, and Garrett. They all got their respective jobs when they turned twelve, and I haven't seen them since. I grew up learning how to be a maid, knowing that would be my job one day. Therefore I learned French, sewing, cooking, and some more…unusual skills, such as combat and horseback riding."

She paused to take a breath. "I lived in a small flat about my mother's shop, and only recently learned about the Shadow World." She met Thomas's steady gaze, and saw him smiling slightly. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "You just-"

But exactly what Vivian did, she never found out. Thomas's words were extinguished by a series of dreadful guttural coughs. He hunched over, and his bowl of stew clattered away on the ground.

"Thomas!" cried Vivian, in alarm.

Thomas looked up, and managed to say a few words. "Need…Institute…" he wheezed. "Charlotte…"

Vivian understood immediately. She looped Thomas's right arm over her shoulders, and half supported, half carried him on the long walk back the Institute. Thomas continued to cough and wheeze, leaving the cobblestones wet with his blood that sprayed whenever he coughed.

Vivian brought him into the main hall, and called out. "Mrs. Branwell! Henry! Agatha! Someone! Anyone!" There was a clatter of doors, and Charlotte came running into the hallway.

"Vivian! What on earth?" Then she spotted Thomas. Her face went the color of pale parchment. "We need to get him to the infirmary," she said, and despite her small size, took Thomas and hoisted him into her arms. She carried him in this fashion down the hallway, and took a left. She kicked open a pair of oak double doors.

Vivian followed in a hurry, and leaned over anxiously as Charlotte deposited Thomas in a bed. "What is wrong with him?"

Charlotte didn't answer. She rushed out into the hallway and spoke in a low, rushed voice with Agatha, who was hovering outside. Vivian caught the words "Silent Brothers" and "Don't know what's to be done this time".

Finally, Charlotte came back in. "The Silent Brothers won't be here until tomorrow," she said, almost to herself. "He needs medicine…but he's a mundane…"

She suddenly seemed to see Vivian. "Vivian, I want you to watch over Thomas tonight," she said brusquely. "Make sure he's all right."

Vivian bowed her head. "As you say, miss."

Charlotte nodded tiredly, and turned to go out of the infirmary. "Miss," said Vivian hesitantly. "What _is _wrong with Thomas?"

Charlotte turned. "He's…sickly. That is all." Then she ran swiftly from the room.

Vivian sighed, and turned back to the boy on the bed. He looked pale and so small against the covers. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and he looked pained, even in sleep. Hesitantly, Vivian reached to brush the curls away that had fallen into his eyes.

Thomas's eyes fluttered, and then opened, staring up at the room above him.

Vivian blushed, and withdrew her hand quickly.

Thomas looked up at her and smiled slightly. "Are you," he coughed. "My ministering angel?"

"I'd hardly say that," replied Vivian. "How are you feeling?"

"Like my chest got crushed by a cab," said Thomas, coughing again. "But it's nothing new. At least you're here this time."

"Listen…what were you going to say, when you had this…episode?" she asked.

Thomas's brow furrowed, as he tried to remember. "I-"

"Of course," said Vivian, hastily. "Don't try to talk. I know you're feeling awful…"

"No," interrupted Thomas. "I remember now. I was going to say that this looked like the beginning of a promising friendship."

She blushed.

He grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

**A year later ~ April 5, 1874**

Vivian finished banking the coals in the fire, face still stinging from Jessamine's slap. In the year that had passed, many things in the Institute had changed. Two new Shadowhunters, a boy and a girl a year younger than her and Thomas, had recently come to the Institute. The boy's name was William Herondale, (but everyone called him Will), and he was from the Welsh countryside. He was very handsome, with wavy black hair and deep blue eyes, but the unpleasant sort. He had pushed away Vivian's and Thomas's every friendly advance and spent most of the time shut in his room or training. The girl, Jessamine Lovelace, was, if possible, even worse.

Jessamine had lived in London all her life; she was a miminy-priminy high society girl who thought herself above everything else, including being a Shadowhunter. Thomas called her a 'poisonous, snaky sort of girl', but he put up with her because he…well, he was Thomas. Good-natured and kind to everyone. Vivian had been in to deliver a new dress for Jessamine: a baby blue empire-waisted tea gown. Jessie had ordered it from a lady's magazine the previous week, and when Vivian had brought it to her, sent her away with a slap, claiming that it made her look pasty.

_Honestly, _thought Vivian, as she stoked the burning hot coals in Will's room. _How can a thirteen year old be such a stuck up-_

"Looking for something?" Will's high voice sounded from the doorway.

Vivian straightened up. "No, Master Will. I was merely in to make your room-"

"I'm fully aware of what maids do," said Will, a scowl across his handsome face. He had a slight Welsh accent, which in any situation have been charming, but the perpetual scowl on Will's face erased any traces of charm. "You can go now. My room is quite warm as it is."

Vivian put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. She knew maids had no place contesting the people they worked for, but Will was a special exception. He could be such an asshat sometimes. "You know, Will, you might have more friends if you weren't so damn cynical and unfriendly towards everyone," she hissed, as she walked towards the door.

"I have no need of friends, nor do I want them. And certainly not _you_, Vivian Manette," replied Will, acidly. "Thank you for making my room abominably hot and stuffy. I will most likely have died from asphyxiation by the time supper rolls around."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," said Vivian, as Will slammed the door in her face.

She wiped her hands on her apron, and walked out the back door of the Institute and into the barn. Whenever she had had a bad day with either Will or Jessamine, she liked to go see the horses. Partially because being around Thomas calmed her down, and also because she liked Balios and Xanthos quite a lot. She strode quickly back to their stalls, but they were not there.

"Charlotte's out," Thomas said, from behind her.

Vivian turned, and smiled. Somehow, being around Thomas always made her feel more at ease. "I see. She's picking up that Chinese Shadowhunter from the docks today, right?"

Thomas nodded. "Which means that we have the day off. Do you want to take a walk? I can see that something's bothering you."

Vivian nodded, thankfully. "Yes, please. I just have to change out of my uniform. I'll meet you in the courtyard in ten minutes."

He smiled and nodded, and Vivian went to change.

So much had changed in the last year, Vivian thought. She had turned fourteen, she had become a lady's maid…and Thomas. Thomas, who had once been sickly and frail, could not have changed more. He had gotten over with most of his sickness, and had bounced back tenfold. He was now taller, stronger, and more muscular. His face was less round, and a lot more angular. Some of his jovial manner had been lost, it was true, but there were still vestiges of the charming boy that Vivian had met last winter. Ever since Jessamine had come, Vivian had had less time to be around the stables, or in the kitchen, and she got the sense that Thomas was dreadfully lonely. She treasured the time she was able to spend with him more than anything, for he was one of the best (and only) true friends she had ever had.

Vivian rifled through her closest; she had a limited number of dresses. Most of Jessamine's castoffs were remade for Charlotte, but a few had gone to Vivian. She chose a lightweight green dress, and wound her hair up into its usually chignon. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring color into them, and pulled on a hat. She hurriedly walked out of the front door and met Thomas in the courtyard. He smiled, and took her arm. "You could pass for an aristocrat lady going to tea any day," he said as the started walking. "Though you're much prettier than any of them."

Vivian blushed, and pretended not to have heard him. Thomas was always making offhand remarks like this, and she really had no idea what to make of them. "Where are we going to today, Tanner?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know," said Thomas, merrily. "I was thinking of going down to the shopping district."

Vivian smiled slightly, and adopted a lofty accent. "Heavens! A man of your station, shopping with the ladies?"

Thomas looked abashed and slightly embarrassed. "I suppose not. Doesn't befit a groom, does it?"

Vivian immediately felt guilty. "Oh, Thomas, you know I was joking!" she said, giving his arm a little squeeze. "C'mon, let's go check out the weapons stall. I know you've always wanted to train with a broadsword."

Though Thomas didn't look entirely taken by the idea, he allowed Vivian to steer him down the street to the shopping district. They were almost to Earl's Emporium of Weapons (Large & Small) but Thomas stopped suddenly. "What is it?" asked Vivian. "Are you having another episode?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," he said, waving the thought away. "It's the Institute's carriage. I think it just passed us."

"Mrs. Branwell must have the new Shadowhunter!" exclaimed Vivian, making passersby stare curiously. "Sorry. But we should probably get back to the Institute. I don't think the masters would take kindly to us being missing."

Thomas sighed. "I suppose you're right. We should get moving."

They both ran as fast as the could; back out of the shopping district, and up the high streets until the arrived, breathless, on the Institute's doorstep. The carriage was parked in front. The pair hurried into the Institute, and shut the door behind them. They heard faint voices coming from the sitting room. "I'll see you later," whispered Thomas.

Vivian nodded, and quickly went to change into her uniform. She then went to the kitchen, where Agatha was making lunch. "Hello, Agatha!" she said, brightly. "Have you seen the new arrival yet?"

Agatha shook her head. "No, he just got here. He and the Branwells are in the sitting room right now. Be a dear and bring them some tea and biscuits, Viv." She handed Vivian a covered tray, and turned back to the stove.

Vivian strode down the hall with the tray, and knocked on the sitting room door. The voices stopped. "Come in!" called Charlotte.

Vivian opened the door, walked in, and set the tray down. Charlotte and Henry were sitting on armchairs close to the fire, and the new Shadowhunter sat across from them. He was small and slight, and looked rather like a bird, she thought. He had ink-black hair and eyes, though the black hair was shot through with silver, like he was an old man, rather than a child. The curve of his eyes suggested Asian heritage, although otherwise there was nothing foreign about him.

"Hello," he said, with a pleasant smile on his face. "I'm James Carstairs, though everyone calls me Jem. I suppose you can too, now."

Vivian returned his hesitant smile, and curtseyed. "Vivian Manette, at your service. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."


	5. Chapter 5

**London Institute, 1879**

_Thunk! _The knife landed in the target, a quarter-inch away from the bullseye. Vivian sighed. She'd thrown over a dozen knives in the past hour, and none had hit the center. "Good shot," said a voice by the door. She whipped around. It was Jem. "Steady your hand a bit, and it should fly on point."

Vivian rolled her eyes, and gave him a mock scowl. "Oh, he thinks himself a teacher now, does he?" she said lightly, striding across the room and wrenching the knife out of the target. Ever since she and Jem had met, they had been very good friends. He often helped with her training, and had become something of a brother to her.

"That's Mr. Carstairs to you," he said, his voice cracked with amusement. He left the doorway where he'd been leaning and walked over to her. "Here," he said, taking the knife from her. "Like this." He drew back his wrist and flicked it, sending the knife sailing directly into the heart of the target. It was something about his form, she could tell.

"It looks like the steadiness is the main focus point," she agreed, grabbing up the other five knives from the bench. "Maybe you could show me-"

Just then they were interrupted by Sophie, who came sprinting into the training room. Sophie Collins had been a new acquirement; she had only been with them for about a year. The circumstances were most unusual. She and Vivian were still both lady's maids, but truth be told, Sophie did more of the 'lady tending', as they called it. Vivian's duties were the more traditional maid's lot, such as cooking, sewing, washing, and she also helped Thomas take care of the horses.

Sophie looked both excited and flushed, like she had run the whole way. "Master's Henry and Will are back," she said, breathlessly. "Along with Thomas. And they brought a girl back with them."

"Shadowhunter?" inquired Jem.

"No-a Mundane, they said," replied Sophie. "But a most unusual one. She was being kept in the Dark Sister's house."

Vivian gasped. "That old brothel?"

"I don't know all the details, Viv. Maybe you should ask Charlotte," said Sophie. "Anyways, this means that we have to prepare a bedroom for her. Would you…"

"Of course," said Vivian. "I'll see you guys around."

She walked swiftly to the linens cupboard, and pulled down a sheet set and comforter. Just as she was going to one of the guest bedrooms, she ran into Thomas. He appeared to be limping. "By the Angel, Thomas," she exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Had a run-in with a couple of warlocks in Southampton," he said, grimacing. "One of them burned me."

Vivian grabbed his right hand and looked at it, palm up. Indeed, there was a line of burns on it, in a curiously uniform fashion. "That looks bad," she said sympathetically. "There's a salve in the infirmary if you want it; I'll fetch it for you if you like after I fix a bedroom for our guest. Come with me, I want to hear more."

Wincing, Thomas followed. Vivian opened the door to one of the nicer bedrooms, and began making the bed. "Sophie told me you found a girl there?" she asked.

"We did," said Thomas. "Although it was kind of a coincidence. See, we went in there to investigate a string of Mundane killings, and found her instead…" he commenced to explain the entire Emma Bayliss situation, and the fight with the warlocks. By the time he was done, the bed was made and the fire was lit. They walked together out of the room and down the hall to the infirmary.

"So, long story short," said Vivian, rifling through the cabinets, "All three of you almost got killed for one Mundane. You said you killed one of the warlocks, but the other one got away?"

"Regrettably," he said. "I was holding one of them and she burned me with these weird blue sparks. Will managed to decapitate the other, but the other one started throwing lightning and got away in the confusion."

Vivian had finally located the right salve. She unscrewed the top, and gave it an experimental sniff. It smelled pleasantly of lemongrass and thyme. "Here," she said. "It says it's for burns of all shapes and sizes. You should probably wash your hands first, though."

Thomas walked over to the wash basin, and began scrubbing his hands. "Did I miss anything interesting while I was away?" he asked, wincing as the hot water spewed over his burnt hands.

"Not really," said Vivian, handing him a towel. "Other than Jessamine throwing a fit over her evening soup and Jem showing me the finer points of throwing knives."

An odd look crossed Thomas's face as she said this. "Jem did?" he said, his tone a little wary. "Why'd he do that?"

"Oh, I was just practicing and he came in," said Vivian. "Sophie came in after about a bit though. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he replied, finishing drying his hands off. "Here, can I have the salve?"

"I'll do it," Vivian said, hastily. If she had not known Thomas better, she would have said that that look was jealousy. _But why would Thomas be jealous of Jem? _She quickly dispelled the thought. "Sit down."

Thomas perched himself awkwardly on a hard wooden chair and extended his hands towards her. Vivian dipped her fingers into the cool salve, and began to smooth it into Thomas's burns. He flinched when she touched him, but it was gone in an instant and she disregarded it. As she smeared more and more of the mixture over his hands, she thought about the last four years. Sophie had come to the Institute in that time, and the old carriage driver, Mr. Perkins, had died of influenza, so Thomas had taken over chauffeur duties. Will and Jem had become _parabatai_ in that time, and Jessamine had become more and more of a snob. And…Thomas. They had become closer in that time, and were the best of friends, but lately he had been acting strangely towards her. He had never been at all awkward around her; they had trained together, basically grown up together, and experienced so many fits of Jessamine's that she couldn't even count. Ever since this year, Thomas had been more…how could she say it? Skittish around her, she thought. He couldn't meet her eyes anymore without looking away soon afterwards, and had subtly been seeing her less and less. She hoped this had nothing to do with Sophie, but not for the reason you might think. Friends in the Institute were hard to find.

"I think that's enough," said Thomas, breaking Vivian away from her thoughts.

She looked down and blanched. His hands were swimming in a veritable vat of the salve. "Oops," she said, blushing. "My thoughts carried me away. Sorry." She hurriedly blotted his injured hands and wrapped them in bandages.

Thomas stood up, gingerly rubbing his hands together. "Thanks," he said. "I've got to go take care of Balios and Xanthos, but I'll see you around."

He walked towards the door. Vivian was struck with a thought. "Hey-Thomas?" he turned. "Do you remember the first night we knew each other? When you were in here because of your illness?"

He flashed her a crooked smile, and flicked his hair out of his eyes. "Vividly." Then he disappeared, leaving Vivian in a cloud of nostalgia, and slight confusion.

* * *

Later, on her way to clean the sitting room, Vivian ran headlong into a person into the hallway. Looking up, she saw a tall girl, with bright grey eyes and long brown hair. This must be the new girl. "Terribly sorry miss," she said, standing aside so the girl could pass."

"Oh no, the fault's mine," said the girl. Her accent was strange; foreign. "You're the other maid, am I right?"

Vivian squinted at her, trying to decide if this was an insult or a simple comment. She decided on the latter. "Yes, miss," she said. "Vivian's my name. You must be our newest guest. Miss…"

"Tessa. Tessa Gray," replied the girl. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

**(Now that she's met everyone, I'll be able to launch into the actual story. More to come! Reviews and follows appreciated. :) )**


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